She followed Mrs. Brown up the stairs to Flora’s bower, an overblown room of flower-and-vine patterned wallpaper and the strong scent of attar of roses. As soon as they entered the chamber, Mrs. Brown had handed her a vial and told her she must use it. It was always Flora’s signature scent, and no doubt Eden would get accustomed to it as she applied the oil to her every nook and cranny.
Seated on a chaise, Mrs. Brown was discussing the litany of sex acts in the contract as casually as if she were preparing an Oxford Street shopping list. With every weary nod of Eden’s head in assent as Mrs. Brown quizzed her on her experience, the woman seemed more pleased.
“Within the week or sooner, you’ll be ready join the Pantheon. And I’m delighted you are perfectly sanguine about performing fellatio on your gentlemen, too. That particular act is an acquired taste,” Mrs. Brown said, smiling at her own little joke.
For Eden, it was business as usual, particularly after her mother died. There was no longer any chance of passing off a child she and Ivor might create as a sibling. She recalled her introduction to her stepfather’s greatest pleasure.
“Puss.” Lord Hartford stood in the doorway of her mother’s sitting room. Eden had chosen to read there in the brightness of the afternoon sunshine. Her mother and sister had gone to the village. She had begged off, hoping her stepfather would seek her out. Willing him to. And here he was. She smiled up at him. “I will have need of you in a quarter of an hour in the library.” He disappeared down the hall.
The warmth pooled in Eden’s belly. The words of her book swam before her eyes. She counted the minutes by the little timepiece on the mantel. When she stood to go downstairs, she felt the rush of liquid between her legs.
“I am wicked,” she said to the empty room. “He is right.”
Her stepfather was sitting negligently on the leather sofa, his legs spread. “Help me with my falls, Puss.”
Ever obedient, Eden leaned over to unfasten his trousers. His cock sprang large and lusty from its confines.
“I always find,” the baron drawled, “a bit of anticipation heightens the pleasure. Would you agree, Puss?” When Eden in her embarrassment failed to respond, he pulled her down. “On your knees, Puss. It’s time for another lesson.”
Eden knew at once what he wanted. The shelves of his library were now at her disposal. Indeed, the baron insisted she spend her free time acquainting herself with his collection. She licked her lips nervously.
“That won’t do,” he chuckled. “Your tongue belongs in quite another spot. Lap me from base to tip, cradling my balls in one hand while you hold my shaft in the other. Not too tight, mind, or you’ll be punished.”
Eden concentrated on her task. His taste, his scent, were somehow already imprinted upon her. When confronted with a glistening jewel of fluid at the tip, her tongue swirled and licked it without thought.
“Gad, you’re a wonder” was all the baron said.
It was so natural to take him whole in her mouth. She sucked reflexively, letting him slide deeper into her throat. Her tongue worked him. It was effortless and strangely exhilarating. She felt her power over him, knew precisely when he was ready to spill his seed. She hesitated.
“Stop at your peril,” he growled, holding her head still. “And swallow every drop.”
The warm spurt splashed against the back of her throat. She struggled at first but obeyed. She’d always obey. The baron knew her weaknesses.
When he was done, he gathered her up in his lap. “Not a hair out of place,” he teased. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, my lord,” Eden answered honestly.
“Let’s see how much.” Lord Hartford’s hand disappeared under her skirts and into the slit of her drawers. “You are sopping, Puss. It seems a shame to waste all this.” With a few hard strokes he brought her to completion and gave her his fingers to lick clean. “Run along now. I will come to you tomorrow night if you’re a good girl. I’ve promised tonight to your mother.” He grinned wickedly. “I shall be thinking of you as I perform my husbandly duties, Eden. Your mother pales in comparison. And is not half so biddable. She would never get on her knees for me. But you, my little slut, you delight me. I much prefer to fuck you.”
He kissed her then. Eden was not so fond of his kisses as she was of the other things he did to her, but she liked them well enough. He tasted of stale brandy today. When he disengaged, he held her neck tightly and bit her, drawing blood. “Marked. Mine,” he said in satisfaction. “What have you to say to me, Puss?”
“Thank you, Lord Hartford,” Eden whispered.
“Louder, Puss, or I shall be cross.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Who owns you, Puss?”
“You do, my lord.”
“And you’d best not forget it. You may tell yourself you serve me to protect your sister, but we know differently, don’t we?”
Eden swallowed her shame and confusion. “Yes, my lord.”
She went upstairs to her bedroom and stared into her looking glass. The bruise on her neck could be covered with a scarf or a ribbon, but she could not erase the knowledge in her eyes. She was eighteen. Her stepfather was a mere five and forty. Although his twin brother had died recently, Hartford might live forever. She would be in his thrall for years to come, until he tired of her and turned to Jannah. As he surely would. Every day her little sister grew into her beauty. Her brother was of no help to her. Lord Hartford had promised to buy him a commission once he was done with school and Eli would disappear onto the Continent the first chance he got.
Eden could never go to her mother now. She doubted the woman could even understand in her addled state. Eden had betrayed her with very little compunction. Her mother’s husband had flattered her, excited her, enthralled her, and she had thoroughly succumbed, fallen so readily into his games of flirtation.
It had started, she realized now, years ago. A fleeting touch here. A knowing look there. A breath behind her neck as he came upon her unawares. His lips brushing hers instead of her cheek as he bid her good morning. A whisper in her ear, the promise of pleasure. Of danger. She had been in a kind of trance while she waited nervously for him to make his move and come to her. As she knew he would. As she wanted him to. It had been months of torture, waiting. But he hadn’t come to her until she had asked. No, begged. And now the torture was tenfold as she writhed beneath him, waited eagerly for his summons, bore his brand as though she were his slave. He had enflamed her senses and extinguished her conscience.
And she hadn’t been able to do without him until that very last day. She started from her reverie as Mrs. Brown spoke to her.
“Tomorrow, my dear, we shall cease prattling and start performing. No, not with patrons just yet. I shall bring my three top girls as a sort of vetting committee. You will show us what you are capable of.”
“You wish me to make love with other women?” She had seen pictures, of course.
“Not at present, although such activity has much to recommend it, as you shall no doubt learn in the future. Some of the girls find their pleasure solely from such diversion, although their gentlemen would never know that, so proficient are they in their pretense.” She winked one smoky gray eye at Eden. “No, Athena, Ceres and Juno will observe you at your leisure. A whore is a bit of an actress, you know, and it’s essential to perform to a gentleman’s expectations. We shall provide you with some assistance, but how you choose to entertain yourself will be very informative.” She rose from the chair, folding the signed contract of employment. “No doubt you are tired. It has been a day of much adjustment, and tomorrow will be challenging. I shall send Francie up with a tray. Perhaps some wine to relax you. Eat and drink every bit or I shall hear of it and be vexed with you. We will begin early in the morning with your toilette. Get some rest.”
Eden was left alone in her vibrantly floral room. She crossed the carpet to the wardrobe, where several scandalously sheer and low-cut dresses hung, a garden of spring colors decorated with fl
owers and beads. There were no clothes in the empty drawers save a transparent nightgown, but an array of cosmetics was spread neatly on the dressing table. A silver-capped jar of familiar-looking sponges was tucked behind a vase of dusty paper flowers. Ivor had supplied her with the preventatives until he decided she might be more efficient than her mother in providing him an heir. She thanked God nightly, and daily, too, that she had escaped that fate. On impulse, Eden turned the door handle. She was locked in. Just as well. This was where she belonged.
Chapter 9
A different young maid knocked on Eden’s door quite early. The rest of the house was hushed, most of its inhabitants having earned the privilege to sleep until noon. The maid, a pretty little slip of a girl with taffy-colored curls tumbling from her mobcap, set a heavily laden tray at Eden’s bedside and opened the fringed curtains to let in the pale autumn light.
“Good morning, Miss Flora,” she said, bobbing her head and bringing Eden a tissue-thin wrapper.
Breakfast in bed. What luxury. Eden could not remember a time when she had been so pampered, save when she had the croup as a little girl. It was she who often brought breakfast to her mother and sister in bed.
But this meal was a far cry from the hearty yet plain fare at Hartford Hall. The maid, who said her name was Josie, uncovered dishes of hothouse strawberries swimming in cream, a fluffy omelet studded with interesting flecks of green, brioche, brown toast with raisins, ham and two kinds of sausage. There was honey and jam, tea and coffee.
“Monsieur don’t know what you like, Miss Flora. You’ve just to tell him and he’ll fix it. Madam says you’re to eat every bite.”
“If I eat like this every morning, I’ll not be able to squeeze into the clothes in the closet,” laughed Eden. “Nor appeal to any gentleman.”
“Oh, a man likes him some meat on a girl’s bones. At least my da always said so. Madam says when I’m older and fill out a bit she’ll take me on, give me a try. I keep pesterin’ her. I’m rarin’ to go, I am. All those pretty gowns and jewels,” Josie said with a dreamy expression on her face.
Eden covered her dismay. Who was she to judge? It was difficult to imagine this girl thought being a whore was preferable to being a maid. But then, she thought ruefully, it was equally difficult to believe she herself had signed a contract with Madam yesterday when she could have been safe and bored as an elderly lady’s companion.
“How old are you, Josie?”
“Thirteen, miss.”
“You’re just a child!” Eden said, nearly choking on a berry. “Surely too young for—”
“Oh, I ain’t a virgin, miss. My da put me out on the streets when I was ten. Madam saw me one day and took me right home with her. She’s got a regular little army of us now. She’s taught us to read and everything. By the time I’m sixteen, she reckons I’ll be ready to become a goddess. Until then I’m keepin’ me eyes open and me mouth shut. A very superior establishment this is, miss.” She stopped for a moment. “Madam says I’ve got to work on me el-elocution. I keep fergettin’. You sound cultured, you do. I wonder if you’d help me?”
“Of course.” Eden had no idea where to begin such a lesson, but couldn’t refuse the eager little maid.
“Eat up. Madam is sending Mr. Anton, the hairdresser what takes care of the girls, in to see you in half an hour. He’ll fix your hair. You know.” The girl grinned cheekily, pointing downward. “And he’s ever so clever with the hair on your head, too. Then you’ll have your bath.”
Eden swallowed. She hadn’t really expected a man to do the shaving, but then she should have. He could give her practice for presenting herself to her future patrons without embarrassment in compromising positions, she supposed. She wondered if he enjoyed the view as he worked on Mrs. Brown’s girls. She herself had been quite ignorant as to what she looked like “down there” until her stepfather had done a series of drawings that left nothing to the imagination.
She had made considerable inroads on her breakfast, tidied herself up and was nervously pacing her bower when she heard the knock on her door. Expecting to see Josie, she was surprised to find Mrs. Brown herself, accompanied by a benign-looking middle-aged man who didn’t seem to have a single strand of hair upon his shiny head. He carried a large satchel, doubtlessly filled with the instruments of his trade.
“Flora, may I introduce Mr. Anton? Tony, darling, here she is, our new Flora. Is she not just as lovely as I described?” Mrs. Brown was looking radiant herself in a gown shot through with silver threads and spangled with crystals. Eden was sure it could not be much past ten in the morning and wondered if Mrs. Brown was ever to be found in a plain gray day dress and apron. She thought not.
“Hmph.” Mr. Anton sniffed and walked all around Eden, who was feeling nearly naked in her wrapper. “I don’t know, Iris,” he said in a faintly accented voice. He looked positively mournful.
“Come, come. You’ll scare the poor girl.”
“Those eyebrows.”
“They’ve already been plucked!” exclaimed Eden. And hellish it had been, although she allowed that Juliet had achieved remarkable results.
“So you say, but they are not to my standards.” He stepped forward, weighing a length of her hair in his hand. “Not bad. The color, it is dull, though. Are you sure we do not do something?” he asked Mrs. Brown.
“I believe it will do. But it is too long.”
Eden could not remember the last time she had trimmed her hair. The baron had liked it long, the better to control her with it.
“I shall think while I take care of the other. Lie down, Miss Flora. Iris, I shall need hot water and towels.” He spied the remains of Eden’s breakfast. “Have Josephine take this away and bring me some chocolate. Perhaps a croissant or two. Henri knows what I should like. The peach jam, not the marmalade.”
“Tony fancies himself quite an artist and I indulge him. For a very moderate fee and all he can eat, he visits the house thrice weekly to attend to the needs of my girls.” Mrs. Brown smiled and left as directed.
“I am in Iris’s debt for so favorably establishing my niece with a young marquess,” the barber confided, rummaging through his satchel. “And I bring her ton gossip from the more—shall we say—respectable women I beautify. We will share a sherry later before I leave to conceal Lady—” He stopped himself, the soul of discretion. “A certain duchess’s bald spot with false hair and glue.”
Eden climbed upon her bed and lay stiffly. After he had been presented with a bowl of water and a stack of pristine towels, Mr. Anton asked Eden to raise her nightgown.
“A jungle” was his verdict, as he created lather in a small bowl.
“I’m not certain why this is even necessary,” complained Eden, eyeing with some aversion the scissors and deadly razor that the man had laid on her bed.
“Hygiene, Miss Flora. It is Madam’s trademark. You will be clean and smooth. After your interlude with one gentleman, you may easily accommodate the next. Lie still please.”
He pushed her legs apart and began to soap the area. He was brisk and professional, with nary a hint of desire. He might have been an ordinary barber attending to any reputable gentleman.
Eden closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. The scrape of the razor was the only sound in the room for a very long time.
“But what is this?” Mr. Anton cried.
“An—an accident.”
“Iris must be consulted. It is too bad.” He pulled down her nightgown and left her.
It had been no accident.
They sat at the dinner table, just the three of them. Her sister rambled on about the darling kittens in the stable. Eden poked a fillet of chicken around her plate. It would be removed uneaten, just as her last course had been.
“Pussies,” the baron said, winking at her. “I like kittens. They are so much fun to teach.”
“Don’t,” she mouthed, her color rising.
“If you catch them young enough,” he continued, “they’ll do anything y
ou want. Even go against their natural inclinations. I daresay I could get one to bark like a dog!”
“Oh,” her sister laughed. “My lord, what a tease you are!”
She stopped suddenly, as if she was ashamed. Just a few weeks ago their mother had died. She hurriedly swallowed some watered wine. “Edie, do say you will play the piano for us this evening. It would do my heart good to hear one of Mama’s favorite songs.”
“Your sister does not feel quite the thing, little one. I believe she needs to go to bed early tonight,” replied the baron.
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